School Girl
by illicit.azure
Summary: AU. Non-massacre. "I really love you!" "I do too." There were some memories she just wanted to forget. One-shot.


Theme: AU. Non-massacre. Paintings, art, love, all of those were interconnected for her, wishing to be without reminder of a painful past, she leaves them all behind. Hopefully. Sakura-Sasuke (albeit one-sided or something)

Summary: She had always thought art was a direct medium for her feelings, and she was right…but right now she wished she wasn't…it hurts too much. Taking a decision into mind, she acts. She hopes taking another path would make life much more easier.

Author's Notes: It's a one-shot. I won't expand on this, I think it's best to leave it as it is.

* * *

_fille d'école - Tournesol_

* * *

She had just finished her latest master piece – a mix of digital and traditional arts. A feeling of contentment ran through her, setting her work aside, she gave a content smile.

She had started her piece with a little portrait of a colorful feminine and slightly awkward sketch made in pencil.

It was a symbol of herself – unfinished and raw, and slightly unhinged.

She started to brush paint onto the plain sketch and eventually colored the grotesque work.

Running stained hands on her white shirt, a tick of annoyance - her once clean shirt had gotten all colorful. Oh well, she did not mind, she could always use another nightshirt. It made no sense fretting over something irreversible. _It was funny how everything kept crossing the line of thought she tried so desperately to tune out. She knew it would be useless to even try to forget everything, but her art…it would keep her mind occupied for at least some time._

She'd let her work dry while eating a handful of cookies.

It was a pleasant afternoon, the soft hum of birds and the bright rays that illuminated her room gave the impression of such.

She waited for time to dry her artwork, she simply had all the time, her world seemed to revolve around nothing but her piece.

"Through the trees I will find you…" The girl suddenly found herself singing to some unknown tune. Deciding, the sun's rays had dried her art enough.

It was time to start working again, quickly wiping off all crumbs that might have seemingly scattered itself on her workplace, she began to unravel more parcels of pastels.

She was satisfied with her master piece, as she would call it; she knew she had poured herself into it. This was probably the last time she would be able to do such.

It reminded her too much of _him_.

It escaped her notice, but her hands shook slightly, whether it was because she was utterly exhausted (it had took her more than a day to finish up, she was wearing the exact same shirt she had yesterday) or because bitter memories strained her already distressed mind, it did not matter. All she knew she needed sleep, she needed a bed fast…all else be forgotten, she was sure she'd end up sleeping cold on the floor if she delayed much further.

She had been a quiet unassuming girl before. Closing her eyes ever so slightly, she let memories flood her mind once more.

"_Albrecht Durer is easily considered one of the most exceptional printmakers of all time. Durer's genius is so exceptional, he could leave tiny flaws in the work and it would not take away from the art one bit. While drawing the human figure, he would never draw in perfect proportions. This added an exceptional energy and life to his work._

_During Durer's lifetime he took two trips to Italy, and did works in watercolors as a record of some of the mountains he saw in his travels. On Durer's second trip to Italy, it is rumored that he may have met with Leonardo Da Vinci. It is probable that the two artists compared notes, techniques, and style." The words easily slipped from her mouth._

"_Vitruvian Man, Lady with Ermine, The Virgin and Child with St. Anne, along with his more famous works, Mona Lisa and Last Supper…all of those are Da Vinci's." She stuffed a piece of loaf into her mouth; which was very unlady like, however at the moment she could care less. She made longer strides; she was going to be late if she did not do so. Angry Professors did not sit all too well with her._

"_Sunflowers…Whose was that again?" She had stopped to think._

"_It was Van Gogh's" A voice had said. It had startled her, twirling around, she was faced with a stranger. "It's hard to believe you memorized such length about Albrecht nevertheless forgotten Van Gogh's."_

_She was flustered. Sunflowers…how could she have forgotten?_

"_I…um…yeah…sorry?" She was at a loss of words. She was perpetually late for class, but the stranger before her held too much of her attention._

_He had spiky jet black hair, his eyes were dark orbs and his skin seemed even paler than hers. He was handsome she concluded…_

"_I'm Sasuke." He had just offered his name and she gave hers as well._

"_Sakura. Anyways, I really got to go!" She hurriedly jogged towards her class._

_In her haste, she had failed to take notice; her little sketchpad filled with her due projects had fallen unceremoniously before the smirking boy._

_Fate definitely wanted them to meet again._

_He took the sketchpad, they would meet again, and he was so sure of it._

She would make sure she no longer paid heed to any memories like this. It reminded her too much of how fragile her heart was.

"_You love sunflowers don't you?" It was him again, she just knew it._

"_YOU!" The girl was absolutely fuming. She had gotten into trouble a few days ago. Not only was she late, she had also forgotten to turn in her due projects. She was lucky her professor thought highly of her, he looked forward to her pieces, he had said she possessed raw talent. He had given her another two days to turn her 'missing' projects. She was grateful for that._

"_You took my Freaking projects! I worked like mad to finish everything in time but…NO…you…YOU TOOK IT!" She waltzed right in front of him. He towered over her; however she did not care, she was not even fazed that she barely reached his shoulder blades. No one messed with her._

_She might've been an art major but she was also a Karate black belt, height was no issue._

"_Whoa! I had the decency to pick up after your sloppy head, and this is what I get?" "SLOPPY?" "Yes. Sloppy." "WHY YOU!"_

She tried turning the stereo to full blast. It made no difference; it was as if her own mind was mocking her. Bittersweet memories made no heed to stop. It flashed right before her eyes.

"_What got me stumped? I say it would be your impossibly volatile personality." He replied. "Are you mocking me?" she narrowed her eyes into mere slits. "No really, I admit, you're such a paradox." She tilted her head in question._

"_Do you remember the first time we met? I mean when you forgot who painted 'Sunflowers'? I totally laughed myself to tears when I saw your sketchpad, it had sunflowers all over it…whoa…I knew at that moment we were going to meet again…we had to." He finished with an honest tone…it made her blush crimson._

_He looked over her, she was flushed nevertheless quiet. "It was corny, wasn't it?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, he was nervous for some reason._

"…_well kind of…but it was sweet!" a blank silence feel over them._

She refused the small tug on her lips, this time the memory would not make her smile at how obliviously boring they were.

"_I really love you!" he had proclaimed to her with nervous fidgeting, it was so unlike him to be nervous, he was always so assured…_

_Surprise had taken her. 'He was nervous because of this?'_

_He had taken her somewhere out of town, it was romantic, a getaway like this. She was taking time to gather her thoughts, 'what he had said earlier…'_

_All of a sudden she found herself a bouquet of sunflowers, and then he had gone proclaiming he loved her on the top of his lungs. She giggled at his audacity._

_After a while, silence had ensued once again._

_She did not know what to do, finding herself fidgeting as well, under his unnerving gaze; she plucked a single flower from the bouquet. "I do too." She whispered, almost fearing he had heard, half hoping he caught what she had said, and then gave him a flower. He took the flower, lifting her chin towards him, she half-anticipated a chaste kiss, and self-consciously inched away._

_It never came; instead he had poked her forehead._

"_You idiot, I had made that bouquet exactly like Van Gogh's Sunflower, twelve flowers and all…" She pouted. She was already used to his insensitive remarks; of course she knew it was just his way of expressing himself. It was actually quite sweet; she just wasn't able to pay attention to the bouquet. She was so engrossed with him._

She pulled one of the sunflowers out of the vase - only eleven lay. She tossed the offending one out the nearest window.

"_12 o'clock sharp tomorrow?" He asked through the phone line. She giggled; she already imagined how he would be as frustrated as always when she came late (it was just a little more than the prescribed time…she had a habit of getting distracted…he was such a diligent body) "Sure."_

_But he never came._

She watched as the flower fell limply on the pavement below. She particularly disliked the flower, it failed its promise of sunshine, the flower was dull and unyielding…she did not wish to see its deceptive petals.

_It was winter, and they met at their usual hangout the city plaza. He was going to take her to the sunflower garden that day. It was unusual timing, the flowers would be frostbitten and drowsy but she was never the one to complain. She was just content to spend time with him._

"_12 o'clock sharp" She checked her watch, five minutes past 12._

_She waited, surely he was just held up. She rubbed her cold arms, maybe it wasn't because of the biting cold, maybe her senses had tried to forewarn her…_

She remembered each and every detail.

She knew exactly what happened that day; she had waited until the sun came down. She knew she should have gone home by now, but she was stubborn, she had too much faith in him, why else would she not? He had never done anything until now to curve such.

After that she never saw him again. It was as if he had vanished, his phone, no one would ever answer, his flat emptied, she was later informed by the university that he had transferred somewhere else. She no longer interested herself with him. He left nothing; it was as if he had severed all ties_._

She cared no longer, she assured herself. She displayed her newly finished artwork on a wooden auburn frame. It sat brightly in the middle of her work space; she would need some place to hang the finished art.

She kept everything littering around in boxes. She needed to get real. She was after all going to need the space; she was going to pursue medicine after all.

No more Van Gogh, No more Sunflowers.

[END]


End file.
